Madeleine's War by Peter Watson

the edge. We don’t want any more landslides.”
    â€œShall we set off a flare?”
    â€œNo, not yet, Madeleine. We don’t know for sure that he’s here. No point in stopping the others searching until we
are
sure.”
    â€œWe need other men to go down into the quarry,” Katrine protested.
    â€œWe need them to bring him up,” I replied. “Especially if he’s injured. But at the moment we don’t know if he’s down there.”
    â€œSo what do you—?”
    â€œLook about you,” I interjected. “There are no trees or rocks to fix arope to. But I am a big man—biggish anyway. Katrine, you and I can hold the rope while Madeleine goes down, over the edge—she’s the lightest.”
    I looked at Madeleine. “Think you can manage it?”
    She hesitated, but then nodded.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure. I’ll thread the rope under my thigh, which will take the strain. I was a nurse, remember—we do rudimentary physics, pulleys and all that, for patients who are badly hurt. Don’t worry about me.”
    â€œGood. We won’t descend here. If Erich
is
down there, we don’t want another landslide.”
    We moved about thirty yards along the cliff. I unwound the ropes from around my waist, and from around Katrine’s, and tied them together. Then I roped Katrine to me and we sat on the ground some ten yards back from the lip of the quarry, both of us gripping the heather groundcover.
    Madeleine slipped the end of the rope under her belt, yanked it once or twice, to test how firm we were, and began to gently lower herself over the lip of the cliff.
    â€œIf he’s there and alive, yank the rope twice,” I said. “If he’s dead, once, and if he’s not there at all three times, and I won’t set off any flares. Understood?”
    â€œYes.”
    The moonlight was still quite strong. I could see Madeleine clearly.
    Then she disappeared and the tension on the rope increased. I dug my heels into the peat.
    Katrine did the same.
    The wind gusted. Clouds floated past the moon.
    After three or four minutes, the line went slack. Madeleine had reached the floor of the quarry.
    I looked at Katrine and she looked at me.
    We waited.
    We heard scrabbling in the landslide earth. From where we had stood it had been difficult to gauge the size of the slip.
    The wind was getting up, larger gusts now, sending swooping sounds through the heather.
    Then Madeleine’s voice broke into the night air as she shouted.
    â€œWhat did she say?” I asked Katrine.
    She shook her head. “I couldn’t hear either.”
    â€œWhat did you say?” I shouted across the quarry but my words too were caught up in the wind that was rushing in from the Atlantic.
    Madeleine didn’t reply.
    Then the rope jerked, hard. Twice.
    â€”
    THE SMELL OF FRIED BACON LEAKED into the dining room. Duncan looked at me and grinned.
    â€œI think we need an emergency more often.”
    I grinned back, and nodded.
    We both looked across to the sideboard, where Craigie, the cook, had brought out a big tray with a mound of bacon rashers heaped on it.
    All of us in the canteen rose, as one.
    Bacon breakfasts were few and far between at Ardlossan, generally kept for bank holidays and other celebrations. Erich’s rescue certainly counted as a celebration.
    Where the bacon actually came from was a well-kept secret, by Craigie, but, as a line formed next to the tray, I said, to no one in particular, “Leave some for Erich. He’s the man who’s been through it.”
    â€œWhere
is
Erich?” asked someone in the queue.
    â€œHaving a hot bath, with a whisky,” replied Duncan. “He’ll be down directly.”
    â€œWhat exactly happened to him?” said Ivan. “How come he was in a landslide, and how come he survived?”
    Duncan answered.
    â€œAs far as we can make out, in the depths of